


Muscle Memory

by bananas_for_the_win



Series: The Dancing Soldier Duology [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes in Bucharest, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), F/M, Reunions, reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananas_for_the_win/pseuds/bananas_for_the_win
Summary: Here ya go! It's finally finished, the moment you've all been waiting for!!! <3~Sequel to Dancing Soldier~





	Muscle Memory

Memory. It’s a strange thing. It is the most important part of a person—it’s what makes them who they are. Without memory, all that is left is a hallow shell of a person.

Man depends on his memories. They are what tell him how to act, feel, talk, walk, and do practically everything a normal functioning human would do. Without memories, all that is left are skills, characteristics, personality traits. A blank canvas.

We trust our memories with our lives. We swear by our own memory. Yet, our memory often fails us. It fades over time and can become muddled with bias and experiences. We often get tunnel vision. When we discover something that doesn’t make sense, our brain will sometimes make up a moment or scenario to try and make sense of things. It comes up with a solution to fill in the gap between dissociating and sometimes conflicting information.

Nothing is ever forgotten, however, only repressed. Covered up, pushed away. Nothing is ever completely erased. Just stored in the depths of our long-term memory. Muscle memory is an example. You may learn a skill but then start to drift away from it and become rusty without practice. But those pathways between the nerves in the human brain that allow you to do that skill are still there. They become faded with lack of use. But once you use them again, it is like you never stopped. Your brain and body pick up on what was once instinct—reflex. You _remember_.

Now, one could say that the memory of James Buchanan Barnes was erased through a series of electroshock therapies and mind programming. But that’s exactly what it was—programming. You're not overwriting or erasing what was already there. You're repressing it and covering it—locking it away. You're creating a separate bank of new memories, albeit terrifying and tortuous ones. They—Hydra—created a second set of memories—a new life, if you will—in the mind of James Barnes. And they created a series of trigger words that would turn off his actual set of memories and bring about the new ones for their own use. It was quite genius, actually. It was almost as if they made him into a dissociative identity disorder patient. Well, that’s exactly what they did. There were two minds inside of Bucky Barnes: the loyal, charismatic sergeant who would do anything for his best friend, and the silent, obedient assassin who never asked questions. Who never failed.

But man is not perfect. Hydra was not an exception. There was a flaw in the Winter Soldier’s programming. And that flaw ultimately set him free.

But his memories were tampered with. So much so that when he was finally set free, he could not tell the difference between fact and fiction. Hydra learned how to steal memories—change them, even. This was different than what was done to the Winter Soldier. No, they learned these things after they had made him. They learned this from somewhere else—someone, else really. Someone with the heart for ballet.

~

Her mother was semi-gifted. She had the genes, just not the manifestation. She knew that her daughter would receive the gene as well, and she knew that she needed to be protected. So she and her husband worked their whole lives to stay under the radar; to steer clear of anyone who would want to exploit her gift. They did this successfully, but only for a while, until the girl’s mother was killed in a car accident.

The Colonel knew of Hydra. He knew what would happen to his daughter should Hydra ever learn of her potential gifts. That is what actually pushed him to join the organization—they became wolves in sheep’s clothing.

But the girl’s secret was not kept forever. Her father prayed that she would take after her mother and never manifest. But as luck—or unluck, really—would have it, she did. And that’s when everything changed. That’s when Hydra did what they do best: exploit.

She was stolen. From her father. From Bucky. She was kept in a containment cell. Either that or strapped to a metal table to be poked and prodded. Her feet ached to dance again. Her lips longed to kiss him again. Her body yearned to be with him, if only for one more moment. She wanted one more moment in his arms.

She knew she’d never see him again, kiss him again, dance with him again. She just wished she could’ve said goodbye.  
~  
The girl was only ever used for interrogations.

Her powers were not as strong as Hydra wanted. She could not compel a person with a simple look or erase someone’s memories with a single touch. She could compel, yes, but only to a certain point. And she could not erase memories. She could only bring them to the surface, and, on occasion, plant memories. She was not particularly valuable to them.

But she was still useful. She ran many interrogations, using her powers to uncover the truth. When someone was seemingly becoming disloyal to Hydra, all she had to do was change their memories a bit, thus changing their mind.

But Hydra wanted more. They always wanted more. They experimented on her, trying to replicate and enhance her powers. The tests were brutal; they left her starving and close to death. They even sometimes tied her to a tree in the middle of winter to monitor her body and powers under stress. Nothing ever changed. She lived through it all. They eventually started freezing her, too. She was thankful that they didn’t need to wipe her memories. She didn’t want to forget ballet. Or Bucky. But Hydra didn’t use memory wipes to get her to comply; they found other ways. They beat her, starved her, and tortured her. She wasn’t as martially gifted, but she came to match the obedience of the Winter Soldier.

They eventually moved her to a more advanced undercover base in Sokovia around 2000 to carry out more advanced tests. For _years_ they experimented on her. Nothing reaped any benefits.

Not until the scepter came along. Once it was in their grasp, the tests started to dwindle. She was grateful that they had finally ceased.

Yet in her place were new subjects. She could hear their screams throughout the whole compound. She could hear their wretched pleas to stop, _just stop!_ But that relief only came with death. She learned that very quickly.

But two were different. Their screams were slightly different. They did not end in the same manner the others did. That was when she knew that Hydra had finally found what they’d been searching for.  
~

All alone in her cell, starving and malnourished, she wondered if she’d ever be free. She wondered if she would ever dance again. She wondered if Bucky had ever gotten free from Hydra’s grasp. She wondered if she’d ever see him again. She wished to be free from that hell. She often cried herself to sleep, dreaming of what she thought could never be.

But sometimes, if you dream hard enough, dreams can become reality.

And it was about time that one played out.  
~

_Bucharest, Romania  
2015_

“Point those toes!”

“Get that leg up higher!”

“Leap, child! _Leap!_ ”

The girl’s voiced echoed in the small space as she barked out commands. Dozens of tutu-clad bodies reflected in the mirror that covered one wall as the children spun and pranced on the worn wood beneath them.

The girl—woman is probably more appropriate—was wearing a black leotard and pick tights. Her pointe shoes were newer, not the ones she used to own. She mourned the loss of them occasionally. Her long hair was up in a perfect bun, as was every other little girl’s in the dance studio.

“Okay, okay, _copii_ , that’s enough for today. Bring it in.” the woman said. All at once every little girl and boy was scurrying over to her. They formed a semi-circle around her.

“Now, what are you going to do when you get home?” she asked.

“Stretch!” they all yelled in unison. The sound brought a smile to her face.

“Very good. Now, scurry on home little ones!” she told them. They all started to giggle and run off in the direction of their bags. A few came up to hug her goodbye. She hugged them back twice as hard.

After all the children had left, and she was alone, she stood in front of the long mirror. She watched herself as she lifted her leg high in the air above her head. She spun once, twice, until she began to feel dizzy. When she first started dancing again, she had forgotten how it felt to stand in a dance studio, what it was like to see herself dance, and how the barre felt against her hands. She had missed it dearly, and she wasn’t planning on letting it get stolen from her again.

She was finally able to get free from Hydra. And when she had felt the sun on her face in what seemed like centuries, she sobbed. She stayed in Europe, and eventually found some cousins that took her in and sheltered and clothed her. She was given a second chance at life, and she wasn’t going to let it slip away. She suppressed her powers and began her new life.

She started dancing again as a form of therapy. She had almost forgotten what dancing felt like. But, like muscle memory, she began to get her touch back even better than before.

So she opened her own dance studio, and she was happy with her life. She still had nightmares sometimes, but they weren’t as bad as they used to be when she first got free. Dance was her outlet. She became so much stronger and healthier. She became happy.

Not a day went by where she didn’t think about him. She wondered if he ever did manage to get free. She wished she could see him again. Dance with him again. She wanted to see him safe and loved and happy, just like the man she knew he once was. She would never forget the way he tasted, or smelled, especially right after a mission. She could never forget his voice or the way he was always gentle with her, even when they sparred. She would never forget the way his hands felt against her hips as he held her steady as she spun in that dark, dingy room.

She wished for him to be with her again, even if for just one more moment. One more dance.

As she began to think more and more about him, tears stung her eyes and she sunk to the floor. She stayed there until the sun went down over Bucharest, and she finally made her way home in the shine of moonlight.

~

Bucky Barnes was a criminal. He was a ghost. He was a man who just wanted a second chance at life, if it would be so kind as to grant him one. He was trying to start over. He was starting a new life in a new place. He kept his head down, lived the same routine every day. He tried to remember what he could, and what he did he wrote down in notebooks.

He had nightmares. Who wouldn’t? They consisted mostly of his time as the Soldier, but sometimes the he would dream of the fall. He always saw blood, and always felt pain, whether it be his own from the electroshock, or mental and emotional pain from all the people he brutally killed.

His memories were still hazy. He remembered Steve the most. He remembered little Steve. He remembered his time in the army before the fall. The Commandos. Those ones were fleeting, but he remembered them.

And, of course, he remembered _her_.

He remembered her weight. Her presence. He remembered the way she felt in his arms—both from lifting her and pinning her to the ground when they trained. He remembered her face so clearly. He was always afraid that he’d forget her face. Thankfully, it was burned in his mind.

He remembered her kiss. He remembered her body—how could he forget it? He probably knew hers better than his own. He remembered how she made him feel: wanted, loved, _safe_.

He remembered how she moved, how they danced. He remembered all of it—down to the very last detail. He just wished he could have that again—with her. Have one more moment; make one more memory.

He didn’t deserve it. She was too good, too pure. He was broken—a monster who didn’t deserve saving. But he was selfish, damn it. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to be happy _with her_.

But he knew that monsters like him don’t get what they want. They only get what they deserve.  
~

The girl struggled to get her flats on as she hurried out the door. She had overslept. She was going to be late for class.

She stumbled down the stairwell and out her apartment building door, her bag getting caught on the handle as she passed.

“Shit!” she cursed as she checked the time on her phone again. She was now ten minutes late.

She finally freed her bag from the door and came barreling down the stone steps, almost taking out an elderly woman as she did so. She muttered a distracted apology and all but ran down the sidewalk.

Bucky Barnes stood waiting for his signal to walk across the street. Bag of plums in hand, he assessed the crowd of people surrounding him. He was getting better dealing with crowds, but they still made him a bit nervous.

He was looking the opposite direction when someone slammed right into him. She let out a yelp as her bag dropped to the ground. Bucky immediately reached out to grab the woman and held her close as to keep her from falling. When she finally had her balance back, he released her.

And all the air seemed to leave his body all at once.

He would know that face anywhere. His memory was shit but he knew. This was her.

He stared at her in disbelief, his metal hand clutching the bag of plums while the other shook like the devil.

She hadn’t looked at him yet. She was too busy picking up the scattered contents of her bag to look at him. Stealing a glance at the ground, he saw pale pink ballet shoes. He swore he could feel his stomach jump to his throat.

It felt like years before she finally straightened up again, brushing herself off. And it felt like centuries as she turned her gaze to meet his.

But it was only a quick glance and a swift apology until she was running off again.

Bucky watched as she scurried away. And he could’ve sworn that she looked back over her shoulder.

_It’s her. It’s really her!_ Bucky thought. His heart was beating a million miles a minute. He couldn’t believe what was happening. How was she still alive? Did Hydra destroy her life too? He didn’t stop watching her. He couldn’t stop himself from following her as she began to grow smaller and smaller. He followed her almost five blocks before she turned and ran up more steps to a dance studio.

He stopped in his tracks just before reaching the studio. Doubt began to cloud his mind. Would she even remember him? Did she even want to see him? He had done so many horrible things, why would she want him in her life?

Yet, he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face.

It was the first time in a long time that Bucky had actually smiled.

He decided to walk away then, and only because he was starting to attract unwanted attention. He cast a fleeting glace over his shoulder at the studio before walking back to his run-down, lonely apartment.  
~

She would know his face anywhere.

She knew the lines of his face like the back of her hand. She knew every curve and edge. She knew his body like it was her own; could read the feel of his skin like braille. She had only gotten a tiny glance at him, but she knew. She _knew_. It was him. It was _him_.

But she ran. She kept going even though every bone and tendon in her body was telling her to stay. She ran, because she loved ballet. She ran, because she didn’t know what would happen if she didn’t.

That whole day she was distracted. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. All she could think about was his screams from being forced into that damned chair. She couldn’t believe that he wasn’t actively falling apart on that street.

She wondered if he remembered her as well as she did him. She wondered if he remembered anything, really. They wiped him so frequently that she wouldn’t be surprised if he never recovered.

But he was _free_. Somehow, by the grace of God, he made it out of that Hydra hell hole _alive_. He did it. He actually _did it_. He got his life back, even if it was broken and scattered. He got a second chance.

But she wondered how much it cost him.  
~

Bucky tried to sleep. He tried to get her face out of his mind. He tried to get his thoughts to settle long enough to think. But every time he got close, the same thought came poking through:

_Go to her._

He wanted to go back. He wanted to be with her, to see her if only to calm his racing mind.

He knew he couldn’t. He knew he _shouldn’t_. He knew it would only make things complicated. He didn’t even know if it was actually her. It could just be a passing stranger who happened to look similar to her. He _did_ have a horrible memory after all.

But…it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It all lined up: the ballet studio, the pointe shoes, everything. It _couldn’t_ be a coincidence.

It was getting darker by the second, and Bucky was fighting everything in him not to go to her. Fighting every bone and muscle and thought and feeling inside him.

It was only a matter of time until he was walking out his front door.  
~

She was seated on the floor, sewing her pointe shoes. She was exhausted. She was so happy that the day was finally over after dealing with her two- and three-year-old classes. She’d had enough screaming children for today.

She let out an exhausted sigh as she finished with her shoes. She ran her hand through her hair, massaging her sore scalp. She visibly deflated when she heard the bell of the door jingle. She groaned and stood to her feet, walking over to French doors that led out of the practice room.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed for today—“ she began, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the looming figure in the doorway.

Bucky had his head down; his hair falling in his face. He didn’t meet her eyes, but instead looked around the room, evaluating and noting all the possible exits. She guessed that old habits were hard to break, even after all these years.

All she could do was stare directly at him. He hadn’t changed at all, save for some scruff along his jawline. Not even the sad, pained look in his eyes had changed.

But he looked… different still. Maybe it was because she only ever saw him in black tactical gear. Right then, he wore a red Henley and a brown jacket. She also noticed he wore dark gloves. His long, dark hair was covered in a baseball cap, but when she looked to his feet, they still wore black combat boots.

She had changed drastically. The years of tests and experiments wore her body down to the bone. The cryofreezes took a larger toll on her than they did him. Years of starvation shrunk her body and she had trouble gaining weight. Her hair was not as full as it once was, and underneath the pink tights were millions of tiny scars.

But she was still the strong girl that she used to be. She still had that gleam in her eye—the same hunger for dancing. She still held her head high, even after everything she’d been through.

She was still beautiful.

They stood in that dark corridor for what seemed like an eternity. But time had no effect on them. It never did. They were both soldiers out of time. They were both old souls, living in a modern world.

Finally, the girl broke the silence.

“Do you still remember how to twirl me?” she asked with a sly smirk. She couldn’t help it when it turned into a large smile.

Bucky couldn’t help the one that broke out across his face, either.

“I don’t think I could ever forget.” He admitted, quietly as well.

Another silence spread out between them. They stood only feet apart, but to them it felt like miles.

“It’s really you?” she asked finally, disbelievingly.

He finally met her eyes. It was dark, but even in the darkness she could see the sharp color of his eyes. In that moment, she fell in love with them all over again. Every emotion she was repressing suddenly rushed to the surface, and she had to keep herself from throwing herself into his arms.

“Yeah. It’s really me.” He said. He gave her a small smile, which was rare. He never smiled; his mind was too plagued with dark, twisted memories to find any light in the world. But just like all those years ago in Siberia, he had found his light again.

He looked around the studio before speaking again.

“I see you haven’t changed.” she smiled at his words. She looked around too.

“After I got away, it was the only thing I had left. I couldn’t let it get stolen too.” She said.

“Care to show me around?” he asked slyly, giving her a smirk. She smiled again and brushed a loose hair behind her ear.

“Sure.” She said, shaking her head. She turned around and walked into the big practice room. He followed not far behind.

She walked towards the long wall with the mirror and leaned against the barre. She watched as he surveyed the small room. On one end of the room was a small bookcase with many trophies and awards and ribbons. There were also many pictures of her with her students and classes. Bucky walked over and gingerly took one picture into his hand.

“How long have you been teaching?” he asked. She walked over and stood behind him, surveying the picture in his hand.

“A few years. It took me forever to find a place.” She answered. He put the picture down and stepped away. He continued his path around the room. He ran his hand along the length of the barre. He came to rest before the old upright piano sitting in the corner.

“Do you play too?” he asked. He walked around and looked at the beautiful ivory keys.

“Oh God no.” she said quickly. “I have a friend who plays for us. She's very talented.”

It was then that she noticed that he had taken off his gloves. His palms were sweating, and the gloves only made it worse. He didn’t have to hide around her. He trusted her, which surprised him. He could remember a time when she was the only person he truly trusted.

He walked back around the piano and towards the center of the room. They met in the middle, only a few feet from each other once again. They could both remember a time when they’d been comfortable even closer. They would both give anything to have that again.

But they also both knew that getting that close could be dangerous. He was unstable, she could tell just by looking at him. She could see the way he eyed the door, the way he jumped at each unexpected sound from outside. It was obvious in the way he carried himself: hiding behind a hat and a curtain of hair, shoulders slumped, head down. Blend in with the crowd. Don’t get caught. She had no doubt that he was wanted for all the things he had done. Or would be, if he was ever found.

But deep inside both of them, they realized that they didn’t care.

Against all odds they had found each other. The world had been against them but there they stood, just inches from one another. Life had torn them apart, but fate had brought them back together.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you.” She said after another long silence.

He shook his head slightly. “Neither can I, doll.”

“How much…?” she trailed off, not wanting to set him off. But she needed to know. She needed to know if he still remembered what they had. She was slightly convinced by the fact that he was standing in front of her now, but she needed to hear him say it.

“Not a lot.” He sighed. She frowned slightly. He saw what she really meant by the look in her eyes.

“I remember you. And our dance.” He assured.

She visibly relaxed. A mischievous grin spread across her face after a moment.

“So you remember this?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. She suddenly shot up to her toes, dancing. She smiled at him as recognition clouded his features. He gave a small laugh as she started dancing the same routine that she had taught him, prancing around on her toes in front of him.

Soon, she was directly in front of him and she was spinning. She was spinning just like every other time before. Her body recognized his hands immediately and goosebumps ran rampant over her skin. It was over all too soon.

He held her close, not intending to ever let go. She was breathless, but breathing hard from the physical effort of the dance. Her breath moved the hair hanging in his face, but he couldn’t be bothered. He was exactly where he thought he’d never get to be again. He was with the girl he loved—something the world would never be kind enough to give him.

Suddenly she was lifted into the air, not once breaking eye contact. She could get lost in his eyes. She could stare into them for centuries. He held her waist firmly in his hands. Her hair fell in her face as she looked at him with so much love and adoration it made his heart hurt. He didn’t deserve her. She deserved someone better—someone who wasn’t a killer. He was damaged goods. In his eyes she was perfect, and he was anything but.

They were inches apart. All one had to do was lean and… Bucky set her down before he could finish the thought.

But yet again, he couldn’t help but imagine if her kiss felt the same as it did all those years ago. He wondered if she would taste the same, if her body would respond to his touch like it once did.

She was wondering that too.

She wanted to taste him again. She wanted to be with him again. She wanted to feel the muscles underneath his shirt move under her touch. She wanted to see his arm again, in all of its wretched beauty.

Curiosity got the better of both of them, and suddenly they were locked in a fierce kiss.

Every doubt, every reservation, every hesitation melted away. All that mattered in that moment was that they had one another again. Each had found the other, and in them they found their will to live.

He lifted her slightly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He wrapped his metal arm around her and held her close while the other reached up to tangle in her soft hair. His hat fell to the floor and the girl ran her hands through his dark locks before coming to rest at the nape of his neck. The stubble on his jaw scratched against her neck as he trailed soft kisses down to her collarbone. The familiarity of it all gave her goosebumps.

Her body remembered his touch. And he remembered hers.

Each knew the other’s weaknesses. Each knew what made the other tick. Each knew exactly where and how to kiss, where to touch, to make the other squirm and writhe under their touch.

It was like they had never been apart.

It was almost like it was all a dream.

Bucky pulled away. He shook his head and pinched himself. Surely he was dreaming. Nothing good ever happened to him. He would never find his happy ending, not with all that he had done.

Her soft whisper shook him from his thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He paused.

“I can’t tell if this is real or not. It feels too good to be true.” He confessed. She looked at him a moment before removing her legs from his hips. He couldn’t meet her gaze as she stood before him. Finally, she took his hands in hers.

“Look at me,” she commanded. His face was half-hidden by his hair, but he met her eyes nonetheless.

“I know you might not believe it, but you deserve happiness, Bucky.” She felt him tense at the name. This was the first time he had ever heard her say it. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

He didn’t answer, only averted his gaze to the floor.

“I know, because I know you. The _real_ you, Bucky. I'm the only one who has even a remote idea of what you've been through. No one else’s opinion matters. They don’t know you. _I_ know you. That’s what's important. Not what you've done or what you've been forced to do, but _who you are_. After everything. It matters who you choose to be.”

“But how do you know that this isn’t just one of their tricks? How am I supposed to know that you're real?” his voice cracked as he tried to suppress a sob. They had broken him, and in more ways than one. They had stripped him down until he was no longer human to them. They treated him like an animal—no, worse than an animal. They treated him like a _machine_. Something to be turned on and off at will. Something used to do their bidding. To them, he was a thing. A _thing_ , with no care for human life. They destroyed the man he once was and ripped him apart until he was no longer anyone at all.

Death would have been kinder.

The girl was furious. She was angry with Hydra, with herself, with the world. She hated that these thoughts plagued his mind. She hated that he had to live this way. She clenched her jaw.

“I know…” she paused. She didn’t exactly know how she knew. She just… _did_. But he needed more than that. He needed something that he could hold on to when nightmares came for him. He needed something solid for when his world came crashing down again. She squeezed his hands.

“I know because I can feel it. I can feel the warmth of your hand. I can feel the chill of the metal. I know because I can move. I can move however I want without needing to be told to do so. I know that it’s you because I can feel your heartbeat pounding just like it used to. I can tell because I _know_ you. And I know, because I love you.”

At that he looked up. He looked into her eyes. _Surely she's lying_ , his mind told him. But the way she was looking at him, the way her tears were pooling in her eyes, because of _him_ …

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move.

He didn’t know what to say or do or even _think_.

“Surely that has to mean something,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. He took his hands from hers and clutched her face, wiping her cheeks. They stayed like that for a while before he spoke.

“It means everything.”

At his words, she cracked. The tears came faster and he pulled her close, his own tears starting to fall. She held onto him for dear life, twisting the material of his shirt in her hands. She cried into his chest as his tears fell into her hair.

They held each other for a long time, even after the crying had stopped.

They were both so relieved. For the past few years all Bucky had been doing was running, hiding. Never taking any time to stop and breathe and remember that he was alive. And for the first time in a long time, he felt safe. He felt safe enough to do all those things. He was finally able to relax under her touch. No one was telling either of them to kill or move or act. Yes, he was a wanted man, but in that moment he felt free. With her, he felt free.

In that moment, he found himself not really minding that he couldn’t remember the better part of his life. All he cared about was being with her. He only cared that she was there with him, and she was safe. He had found her. His ballerina.

And he’d be damned if he was going to let anyone take her away again.

**Author's Note:**

> copii means children in Romanian. If you can't tell I need at least one translated word in each of my works :P


End file.
